No More Kisses for Oscar's Grave - But I Left One When I Could

As you all are well aware, much of the inspiration for DARKER STILL: A Novel of Magic Most Foul came from Oscar Wilde's The Picture of Dorian Gray. Considering Wilde worked in many literary mediums, as a playwright and author, he provided me inspiration in my many artistic lives as an actress, playwright and an author. No other literary luminary inspired me in so many different forms as Wilde. Last year, during a research trip through London, Paris, Verdun and Germany, I was able to pay my respect in Pere Lachaise cemetery to my beloved Mr. Wilde. Tradition is to leave notes of affection, and yes, lipstick kisses (which began appearing in the 1990s) upon the Art Deco styled grave.

But no more kisses for Oscar, according to the UK Guardian. The oils have caused damage to the stone, which is a sculptural work of art in and of itself, and the grave will now have a barrier around it.

While I wholly understand the reasoning behind protecting the beloved author's stone from these discouraged (yes, it could have resulted in a fine) displays of affection, I confess, I don't regret, per that tradition, showing my adoration. Here I am paying my respects:

After bestowing the kiss I left a note, under a rock, asking Oscar for his blessing on DARKER STILL.

As I say in the first lines of the Acknowledgement Page of the novel: "My dear Oscar Wilde, thank you for Dorian Gray, and for your genius. I'd like to think that if I had the privilege of knowing you, we'd have gotten along famously. Regardless, I am eternally your fan."

I was quite overcome at the site. I cried, thinking of all the trials he endured in his too-short life. I look forward to revisiting Paris, and Oscar, again, to see his brilliantly restored grave, and to pay my respects at a slight distance, but with no less love.

I know I'll ask for Mr. Wilde's blessing on the rest of the Magic Most Foul saga as I continue writing it. XOXO, Oscar.

(Find a DARKER STILL near you...) 

Paris is Magic

Anyone who would say otherwise has not visted the same city I did. Here for research on the fourth and final installment of my Strangely Beautiful saga, Miss Violet and the Great War, this city inspired me beyond all measure.

You think you know monuments from post cards and stock photography. I felt this same amazement when visiting the Grand Canyon; that just nothing can prepare you for the real thing. So when you stand beneath something like the Eiffel Tower, you are stunned. And you are thrilled like a child, your heart is beating rapidly with wonder, realizing that something familiar was far more special than you could ever have expected, now that you stand under its eaves and wonder at its engineering and prowess. Paris and I, much like London and I, have had an interesting relationship through the years. I've felt I've long known Paris, and in certain ways I have. I knew a bit of French from high-school (and I am proud to say I used it as best I could). I'd long ago fallen in love with the great 19th century French writers, artists, composers, etc. So visiting Paris was, much like London, greeting a long lost friend. I said hello to the gorgeous Garnier Opera house and at long last ascended its grand staircase. The palace that inspired The Phantom of the Opera, Leroux' novel and Webber's musical combined in a seminal childhood obsession that began my fascination with the 19th century. I owe this building much, one of many sacred places on our tour. Paris is a city of magic. A 'city of light' indeed, a city endeared to me long ago. But in walking its streets, in praying hard and long at a Notre Dame mass, it will remain a city forever in my heart, not just an acquaintence but now a friend. The view from our hotel windows proved that the grandeur of Paris exists for the whole world to celebrate; Gare du Nord station an impressive palace at our doorstep.

I believe a gauge of a famous, historical city's spirit is by traveling upon its waterway. Understanding where the Thames is in relationship to London is critical, as is the Seine in Paris, the Meuse through Verdun, the The Rhine through Germany. One of my priorities in this course of travel was to feel the beat of that particular vein, for in understanding a city's body of water you understand a key to its history, a key to its magic. Water and graveyards, these were my priorities. Thankfully my family humored my mission to examine the many necropolis quarters housed withing the cities on our tour. Pere-Lachaise is a stunning necropolis not to be missed. I would not have traded my tearful moment at the grave of one of my most beloved authors; Oscar Wilde, for the world. I left a prayer with Oscar, asking for his blessing towards my future project. I hope someday soon to be less cryptic about that, but all in good time.

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A city of light in every way, Saint Chapelle certainly did not disappoint, with its walls of coloured glass...

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Upon the rails, heading east, I felt and saw a France outside of its superstar capital city. Just as charming and lovely in its own right. And full of stories to tell.

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Next, I will write about Verdun. And my entry recounting Verdun will be unlike anything I have ever written on this blog. I shall leave cute and bouncy recollections of adventures behind in order to talk about one of the most sobering, complex moments of my soul and my writer's imagination. Until Verdun, au revoir.
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